


read between the lines

by risettos



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crushes, Denial, Flirting, Libraries, M/M, Marvin being a Disaster Gay, Whizzer Brown Being Whizzer Brown, because fuck act 1 marvin, i wrote this while sleep deprived pls, in which marvin is act 2 marvin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risettos/pseuds/risettos
Summary: In which Marvin works part-time in a library, and Whizzer Brown is the mildly annoying yet insanely attractive-- not that Marvin would ever admit that out loud-- guy who's been coming in almost every day for the past few weeks and seems to take pleasure at Marvin's expense. And he still hasn't returned the book he borrowed.(Or, the librarian AU nobody asked for but I wrote anyway.)





	read between the lines

**Author's Note:**

> im working on the chaptered fic i swear
> 
> anyways im not totally satisfied with this but enjoy!!!

“—Hey. Excuse me? Hey—!”

Someone’s waving a hand in front of Marvin’s face. Marvin winces as he looks up from the book strategically placed on top of his lap (and hidden underneath the librarian’s counter) with a surprised yelp, the book snapping shut in his hands. It’s with wide eyes that he realizes there’s a stranger standing in front of him— some dude with an amused little smirk on his face, wearing jeans and clothes so tight that Marvin wonders if he could even breathe-- or, would be wondering if he could bother to stop noticing how the fabric hugs his frame and makes how broad he is, how toned and sculpted and  _ hot _ all the more prominent, standing on legs that go on for days, Jesus Christ—

Marvin, suddenly hyper-aware of the possibility that he might be gaping, promptly coughs into a closed fist and clears his throat. There’s the standard response of I’m very sorry. How may I help you? that’s been drilled into him by the actual librarian the day he’d gotten briefed when he’d first started working part-time here in the library, but when he opens his mouth the only words that come out are, “How long have you been standing there?”

The stranger blinks and raises an eyebrow and Marvin can hear the poorly concealed laughter snuck under his breath. He feels his cheeks warm up, and he narrows his eyes at the man on the other side of the counter with a small frown before his gaze promptly flits away and lands on the wall the moment his and the stranger’s eyes meet.

“Yeah,” Marvin says, swallowing, “Sorry. Don’t mind that. How can I help you?”

“Erotica?” the stranger asks, and Marvin sputters, his cheeks burning up. He wonders if this guy is for real, if he’d just blandly asked Marvin about the library’s erotica collection, but then the guy continues— “Is that what it is? Erotica? Is that what’s so intriguing that you didn’t hear me for around five minutes?”

Marvin fakes another cough and purses his lips, trying to ignore the hotness on his cheeks. “I’m very sorry for not noticing you, sir, but I hardly think that’s any reason to—”

The stranger leans closer, a devious smirk plastered on his face, and whispers, “Were you reading porn during your shift in a public library Mr. Marvin?”

Marvin balks. “When did I even tell you—” he starts, mouth snapping shut when the stranger— the admittedly attractive yet kind of an asshole stranger— nods vaguely in the direction of the name tag clipped onto the left breast of Marvin’s shirt (though with a slight grimace, Marvin notes with distaste).

He slumps back onto his chair and tries not to groan.

“And when were you born, by the way?” the stranger’s looking Marvin up and down now, eyebrows raised and lips downturned, his gaze scrutinizing. “The 50’s?”

“Do you need something or not?” Marvin bites out in between gritted teeth. The fucker’s frown shifts into the same shit eating grin that he’d been wearing earlier, spreading wide across his face.

“Yes, actually,” he shows Marvin a book that he’d been hiding behind his back, still smiling that damn smile. He sounds so damn proud as he says it too. “I’d like to borrow this.”

Marvin thinks the man’s become significantly less attractive than he’d previously observed.

He clenches and unclenches his fists under the table, taking a deep breath, because as a broke college student it probably isn’t in his best interests to overreact and punch someone (in his workplace, no less!) in the face and subsequently get fired.

So instead he nods tiredly and holds out a hand to take the man’s library card and the book he’s planning in borrowing. Flipping the book open to the last page, he takes out a small card slipped inside an envelope that's been stuck behind the back cover of the book. He bites back the snappy words threatening to spill out of his lips. 

“Fill this up, please,” he says instead.

The stranger fills it up excruciatingly slowly, and when Marvin shoots him a glare and the stranger glances up to meet his eyes with an impish grin to go along with it, Marvin huffs and taps a spare pen against the countertop.

“Here you go,” the asshole says, and Marvin tries his damnedest not to snatch it out of his grasp. He clips the small card alongside the library ID— which identifies the man as Whizzer Brown. Marvin scoffs inwardly- even his name is obnoxious. What kind of nutcases name their kid Whizzer Brown- before tucking the two cards into an alphabetized cabinet.

“Return it in seven days,” Marvin says tonelessly. He hands the book over, “Don’t dog-ear the pages. Every overdue day will have a fine of fifty cents.” Whizzer Brown only waves a hand in vague dismissal, taking the book.

“I guess I’ll see you next week then, Mr. Marvin,” he says with a cheeky grin. He turns around and walks out the door with a confident stride and a posture so stiff and straight that Marvin winces just looking at it.

“Yeah,” Marvin says dryly when the other man is out the door, “I would hope not.”

He has to admit, though— Whizzer Brown has a nice ass.

* * *

Charlotte doesn’t even look up when Marvin barges into hers and Cordelia’s dorm room without any sort of warning whatsoever. “How’d work go?” is all she asks him, half hunched over her desk with her nose buried in a medicine book.

Marvin’s thoughts immediately go back to the whole— thing— with Whizzer Brown. He’s tempted to call it a fiasco, but he doesn’t really think it had been intense enough to qualify as being one. Nevertheless, the memories make him massage his temples and sigh, and he collapses on his back on top of the closest bed.

He’s not quite sure if it’s Charlotte’s or Cordelia’s. He doesn’t much care, either. He closes his eyes and sees Whizzer Brown’s obnoxious smirk and coiffed hair and raised eyebrows, and he opens his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, letting out a long-suffering groan.

Charlotte clicks her tongue sympathetically. She closes her book and twists her swivel chair around a little bit so that she’s facing him, “That bad, huh?”

“You do not even know,” Marvin scowls up at the slate-gray ceiling, his head already starting to hurt. He kicks his feet up in the air. “This guy at work today— Jesus Christ.”

“Is that a good Jesus Christ or a bad one?” Charlotte asks, propping her chin on top of her hand.

“An awful one. He was so annoying, Lottie, oh my God,” he sits up, “I wanted to strangle him alive.”

“Kinky,” Charlotte remarks. Marvin gives her a Look just as Cordelia bursts in from the kitchen with a tray full of brownies. The Look promptly transfers over to the food, his face carefully blank as he studies the brownies with silent judgement. They actually look halfway decent, not a trace of burns or paler bits as far as his eyes can see, but if the phrase “Never judge a book by its cover” had to apply to anything, it would have to be Cordelia’s dishes.

He looks at Charlotte. Charlotte looks back at him.

“She’s been practicing,” she mouths.

“Oh,” Marvin says in a whisper. “So I’d be less likely to die this time, then.”

Charlotte shoots him a glare that could curdle blood and hisses at him to just eat a goddamn brownie before Cordelia tilts her head at the both of them and sits down on the bed next to Marvin. “What’s all the fuss about?” she asks, still holding the tray. There’s a gleam in her eye, “I want in!”

He takes a bite. To his credit, he doesn’t gag.

“Marvin’s talking about a cute guy he met in the library,” Charlotte throws out, completely casual, and Marvin promptly chokes on his brownie, tiny chunks spraying out on the floor, hand over his chest as he coughs and hacks, staring at Charlotte with his eyes wide and his cheeks red.

(“I just cleaned that!” he faintly hears Cordelia squeak, before she seems to realize that her best friend is coughing his lungs out on the bed because suddenly she’s pushing a glass of water into his hands and frantically patting his back and Charlotte, the fucking med student, is sitting there and trying not to laugh, what a little shit--)

“I never said that!” he protests in a weak voice once he’s neither choking nor heaving for breath anymore and the glass of water is nearly empty in his hands. He looks between the two women, “Charlotte’s telling lies, ‘Delia.”

“Hm,” Cordelia says, looking Marvin up and down with her bright eyes narrowed into little slits. Marvin rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

Charlotte nods along sagely, as if her girlfriend had contributed a very deep insight concerning the topic. “You’re awfully defensive.”

It’s Marvin’s turn to glare. Charlotte only shrugs.

“I’m not,” he mutters, “And he isn’t. Cute, I mean.”

Marvin hopes he’s not as bad a liar as everyone says he is— because Whizzer Brown was actually really cute, and really fucking hot, and if he hadn’t been a complete asshole Marvin would have probably hoped to see him around the library again— but if the sceptical looks the lesbians are throwing in his direction are any indication, then his lies are probably as transparent as he thinks they are.

“He was an asshole, okay,” Marvin mumbles. “An utter and complete asshole,”

He reaches for a brownie, but Cordelia is quick to hold it out of his reach. She makes a tut-tut kind of noise at him and her smile only widens when he pointedly looks away and huffs. After a moment, he tells them, “And he accused me of reading porn,”

Cordelia cackles— the fucking traitor. Charlotte’s hiding her laughter behind her hand, too, and Marvin glares at the two of them. Traitors— the lot of them. Is this what their friendship has come to?

And here he’d thought what they had was special.

“Were you?” Cordelia asks in between giggle fits. He stares at her for a few seconds before he throws his hands up in the air and collapses back onto the bed.

* * *

“Hey!” is how Whizzer Brown greets him the next day, the same annoying smile on his face as the library doors swing shut behind him. Marvin looks up. The space between his eyebrows is creased, and the straight line of his mouth has been tugged downwards into a frown.

So much for not meeting Whizzer again anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter. He sighs and rakes a finger through his hair.

“What are you doing here?”

Whizzer’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then he laughs and his mouth does that stupid smirk thing again. “To read, Mr. Marvin,” he says, his voice taking on a somewhat aghast, offended tone that sounds mildly condescending to Marvin's ears, “That’s what people usually do in libraries.”

Marvin squints, “But you just borrowed a book yesterday,”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t read,” Whizzer retorts. Marvin stares at him for a moment, his mind scrambling for a reply. Whisper's face noticeably lights up when Marvin ends up shrugging. Marvin hates him for it.

Whizzer remarks, “Not reading porn today, are you?”

Marvin’s sure that if his cheeks were to get any hotter, they’d melt right off his face. “Whatever,” he says, waving a hand in the general direction of the reading area, “Go and— read,”

Whizzer only laughs even more, and he has the fucking gall to wink before he turns and walks out of Marvin’s line of sight. Marvin finds himself glaring heatedly at the broad of Whizzer’s back as the latter retreats into the shelves.

When Whizzer disappears into the deeper parts of the library, Marvin finds himself staring blankly at the doors, chin on the back of his hand as he waits for anyone else to stop by. He contemplates reading a book again, but then he remembers yesterday and all the fuss that had come with reading a book in his work hours. He doesn’t want to have to deal with all of that again, just in case Whizzer reappears again just to give him shit.

(His id-- which he has, for obvious reasons, nicknamed Inner Mendel-- tells him to consider maybe not breaking the rules. But Marvin had just been so bored, and the day had been going by so slowly, and he'd physically felt his life force draining from his body with every second he'd spent doing nothing behind the goddamn counter.

And look where that got you, Inner Mendel tells him flatly.)

Marvin groans and folds his arms over the countertop, burying his face in them and letting out a small, muffled scream. What is it about Whizzer Brown that irritates him so, he wonders? What is it about him that just makes Marvin so frustrated— when they’ve barely even interacted at all? 

Why is it that when he’s around him and sees his stupid smirk and sparkly (sparkly, what the fuck, Marvin, is this some kind of bad romance novel? Twilight? Is that it? he asks himself) eyes and tight clothes and obscene jeans he’s just filled with this unadulterated rage and desire to—

“Excuse me?” someone interrupts, snapping him out of his thoughts, and Marvin jumps back into attentiveness. Jesus, he thinks. Talk about déjà vu.

There’s a girl standing on the other side of the counter, lip bitten and fingers fiddling with the edges of the index card she’s holding. “Sorry,” she says in a soft voice, “For uh— interrupting your—”

“No, it’s okay!” Marvin quickly reassures, though he doubts he’d succeeded given the way the girl had jumped back and put her hand over her chest. He grins tightly and rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish laugh brewing in the bottom of his throat, “I— sorry for the outburst. What did you need?”

He’s mostly just very relieved for the interruption.

“I just wanted help finding this book…” the girl trails off, and she hands him the piece of paper. He turns it over and takes note of the title before he nods, figuring out where exactly it was. He gives it back to her and tries for a polite smile.

“What about you wait here and make yourself comfortable while I go get it for you?” he asks, slipping into a more professional façade. She only nods and he nods back, and they stay there for a few awkward moments of silent before he clears his throat and leaves to find the book.

It’s not long before he finds the section of the library where the book is located, and it’s not long before he’s faced with a whole new problem.

Marvin glares up at the bookcase and stands on his tiptoes, stretching his arm out to reach for a book on the topmost shelf. He stumbles back on his feet and swears under his breath, taking a deep breath before trying again.

He loses his balance once more and he swears again— out loud this time. Why did the library have to order shelves that were so fucking tall? He almost doesn’t notice the other hand— one that definitely isn’t his— reach up to take the book he was about to get, and when he turns he sees that it’s Whizzer Brown. His mood sours even more.

He’s starting to think Whizzer Brown is doing this just to annoy him. And it’s working. He won’t show it, though. That would mean losing whatever game this is that Whizzer is playing at. Marvin doesn't want that at all. 

“I need that,” he says stiffly.

Whizzer chuckles, “Yeah, I noticed. Why are you working in a place full of tall shelves?”

“What—” Marvin stammers, before his gaze hardens, “I’m of perfectly average height, thank you very much.”

“And yet there you were, struggling to get,” Whizzer turns the book over, a contemplative look on his face, “Beloved by Toni Morrison,”

Marvin glares at him and crosses his arms. “Give me that, will you?” he reaches for the book, but Whizzer steps back and laughs when Marvin misses him by an inch. Marvin glowers at him, standing back and dusting imaginary dirt off his shirt.

“What,” Whizzer Brown says, “No ‘thank you’?” Marvin rolls his eyes and Whizzer holds the book forward. Marvin snatches it away and marches off. He hears Whizzer laugh and call out a “You’re welcome!” from behind him, but he doesn’t bother turning around or acknowledging it in any shape or form.

* * *

“He’s impossible,” Marvin tells Mendel. They’re both in Marvin’s bedroom, playing a round of Mario Kart as Marvin bitches about work and life and Mendel hums along and offers terrible advice. “And irritating. And maddening. Incorrigible! Intolerable!—”

“Infuriating?” Mendel offers, just as he knocks an NPC out of the track.

“Yes, that.” Marvin curses when he slips over a banana peel. Mendel wins the game. Marvin throws the controller onto the ground and lets out a very unattractive sound.

“Doesn’t sound like you like him very much,” says Mendel offhandedly. Marvin snorts.

“Yeah, no shit.”

Mendel picks the controller up and tosses it in Marvin’s direction. Marvin catches it with ease, before he starts up a new game. “The thing about him is he’s just— fucking everywhere I go, you know?” he scowls, “I was at this coffee shop a couple days ago and he was the fucking barista—”

Marvin ignores the curiosity in Mendel’s eyes when the other glances his way. He frowns at the screen and meddles with the control buttons.

“And he keeps going back to the library!” Marvin cries, mashing the buttons relentlessly. He can feel Mendel’s eyes on him, staring with his eyes wide open and his mouth agape as he observes Marvin abuse the controller without a hint of mercy. “He hasn’t even returned the damn book he’d borrowed— he keeps coming back every day without fail, just to annoy me. But he doesn’t bring the damn book—”

He straight up shoves an NPC off the tracks, glaring at the screen and breathing heavily.

“What?” Marvin snaps when Mendel doesn’t stop staring, shifting a little in his seat with a slight frown.

Mendel holds his hands up, “Nothing, nothing.” He’s got a little chuckle in his voice as he speaks, and Marvin furrows his eyebrows at it and stares at Mendel inquiringly. Mendel only shrugs and laughs a little, and Marvin purses his lips and goes back to the game.

* * *

The lights of the library have been dimmed. It’s already pretty dark out, nothing but the faint streetlights brightening up the night-time streets. He dumps the dustpan’s contents into the trashcan, before walking over to the broom closet and putting the cleaning stuff away.

When everything’s all tidied up, he stretches his arms and yawns. His watch tells him that it’s a quarter to seven. He glances at the reading area and figures that it’s time to give the place a once-over since they’re closing up soon, anyway.

His footsteps are the only ones echoing inside the empty establishment. His skin feels a little cold. He rubs at his shoulders, trying to suppress the shivers crawling up his spine. He isn’t scared, he tells himself. He’s a whole adult now— he won’t be scared.

He regrets covering for Trina’s shift. She’s good at this sort of stuff. She’s the one who usually closes up.

Marvin turns the lights on, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Running a hand through his hair, he bites his lip and wonders if he should just lock up without double checking anything whatsoever.

But that would be breaking protocol, and Marvin doesn’t want that, no matter how tempting the notion may be. He braves past the labyrinth of bookshelves with his fists clenched and his tongue bitten.

He jumps back and barely stifles a scream when he sees a dark figure tucked between bookshelves. Quickly clearing his throat and swallowing, a trembling hand over his racing heart, he walks closer on two shaky legs and wipes the cold sweat off his brow.

Upon closer inspection it ends up to be Whizzer Brown, asleep, books scattered all around him. Marvin mumbles a soft “Jesus Christ,” underneath his breath and squats. He grabs the book closest to him, squinting.

It’s a photography book.

“Huh,” he says. Objectively speaking, he’d thought Whizzer would be the one with the cameras pointed at him rather than the person behind one. He puts the book aside, and picks up a few more. He doesn’t pay attention to them, stacking them up neatly and then pushing the stack of books aside.

He finds some book about baseball, too. Marvin makes a face.

He looks between the books and Whizzer before sighing.

He has to admit, though— Whizzer, asleep like this with his skin clear of any crease, soft breaths filling the silence, mouth shut and curled into the faintest ghost of a smile, he’s almost— beautiful. Not that Marvin would ever say that out loud.

Shaking his head and uttering a few silent words of exasperation, he shakes Whizzer’s shoulder lightly.

“Hey,” he says. “Come on. Wake up.”

Whizzer Brown mutters and stirs a little in his sleep, but remains ultimately asleep. Marvin scratches his head and shakes Whizzer a little bit more. “You made a mess,” he mutters, “You’re gonna have to clean it. I’m not cleaning it for you.”

Whizzer Brown keeps sleeping.

Marvin purses his lips and leans forward so he can flick Whizzer’s forehead. When Whizzer yelps and furrows his eyebrows, one eye peeking open, Marvin leans back with a smug smile on his face. “We’re locking up soon,” he tells Whizzer simply.

Whizzer blinks owlishly and rubs his eyes and stretches his arm when he yawns. “What time s’it?”

“Late.” Marvin takes a half the bundle of books and drops them in Whizzer’s hands, who only blinks owlishly up at him before his he looks down at the pile in his hands. Letting out an exasperated huff of breath at the confusion on Whizzer’s face, Marvin stands up and puts his hands on his hips, “You’re helping me clean your mess up.”

“Ugh,” Whizzer grunts, but he hauls himself up to his feet anyway. Marvin rolls his eyes and picks up the other stack of books, and they work in silence. There’s this strange heaviness in the air, some kind of tension, some kind of awkwardness— though Marvin supposes that it’s just him who seems to be affected by it, since Whizzer looks like he’s relatively unfazed.

Whatever, he thinks. Why should he care if Whizzer feels as awkward as he does or not? God Almighty. He slides the last book into an empty space between the other books on the shelf and then looks at Whizzer, who only shrugs and gives him a sleepy rendition of his usual smirk.

“Hurry up,” Marvin says.

“I’m giving you time to pull that stick out of your ass,” is all Whizzer says in response to that, and when Marvin flips him off, he laughs and puts his last book in the shelf. He turns, so that he’s facing Marvin, looking down at him (and why does he have to be so fucking tall?).

“Glad to see you didn’t have much trouble reaching the shelves,”

Marvin scowls and marches towards the door, keys jingling in his pocket. “I can lock you in here, you know!” he yells over his shoulder. He can. And he will. If Whizzer doesn’t stop being an insufferable prick. Whizzer only laughs, but Marvin can hear his footsteps following after his own. He pauses right at the door, head turned, waiting for Whizzer to catch up.

“Aw, you waited for me,” Whizzer says.

“Shut up,” Marvin says, opening the door. They step out into the cold evening, and Marvin shivers the moment the chilly air hits his skin. He ignores the curious look Whizzer gives him.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m perfectly fine,”

Whizzer takes his leather jacket off. Marvin stares. Whizzer offers it for Marvin to take. Marvin stares some more.

“No need,” he says, shaking his head, “I’m alright,”

“Oh, come on. Just take it,” Whizzer shakes the jacket a little, shifting his weight to his other foot. Marvin frowns. He doesn’t know what it is, but he feels a little weird at the idea of borrowing Whizzer’s jacket. He stares at the garment and furrows his eyebrows in contemplation.

“Just swallow your pride this one time, Jesus,” Whizzer says. Sending him a dirty look, Marvin takes the jacket and pulls it on. He’d never admit it, but the effect is immediate— his body feels significantly warmer. His teeth aren’t chattering. The hairs on the back of his neck and on his shoulders aren’t quite standing on end anymore.

“Why?” he asks after a moment of silence. Whizzer scoffs at him.

“Do you even know how to say thank you?”

Marvin takes a deep breath and presses his lips into a thin line. “Thank you,” he mutters under his breath, his voice so soft even he can barely hear it. Whizzer grins broadly, though— it’s not condescending, it’s not smug, it’s not any of the other smiles he’d sent Marvin’s way. It almost makes him shine.

There’s a funny feeling in the pit of Marvin’s stomach. One he immediately recognizes. It’s faint, still— just enough to make his skin tingle and his cheeks heat up a little bit, but it’s still there, nonetheless.

Fuck.

No. This cannot be happening. This is— only a byproduct of Charlotte and Cordelia’s incessant teasing. That’s all there is to it.

“See, was that so hard?” Whizzer says, and Marvin lours, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. Whizzer Brown only laughs and smoothens out his outfit. “Be sure to bring it back tomorrow.”

“You haven’t even returned the book,”

“I’ll give you the book back when you give me the jacket,” Whizzer bargains. For a moment, Marvin considers this, before he nods slowly and steps back. Whizzer nods back and stretches his arms. “See ya."

“Be careful,” Marvin says before he can stop himself. Whizzer blinks at him, stunned, and Marvin pulls the leather jacket tighter around him. Whizzer’s mouth stretches into yet another wide grin.

“Aw,” Whizzer says. “You  _ care _ .”

Marvin only just realizes that Whizzer’s hair is not ridiculously neat for once, a few stray locks sticking out from where they’re usually gelled to the side. Whizzer’s movements are a little sloppy as well, a little heavy-- he’s clearly still a bit sleep-addled, and it shows in the fog in his faintly bloodshot brown eyes, glassy and glittering underneath the streetlights’ glare; it shows in the way he stretches his arms and grunts.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been spacing out until he’s staring at the broad of Whizzer’s back, his baby blue shirt unobscured by the leather jacket for once. Marvin squints a little at this and rubs absently at the sleeves of his--

\--jacket?

Right. Jacket. He’s wearing Whizzer’s jacket, and it’s kind of really warm and unexpectedy soft. Whizzer’d given-- lent. Lent. Whizzer’d lent it to him.

Fuck. He really can’t believe this is happening. No way. He can’t like Whizzer Brown.

Marvin huffs, telling himself that the wamth in his cheeks is just because of the cold, telling himself he hadn't been staring, hadn't been  _ weird _ , hadn't paused long enough for it to be awkward, and tugs at the hem of his-- Whizzer’s jacket. “I care about you returning the book,”

That doesn’t stop Whizzer from laughing as he walks away.

Marvin’s stomach does that funny little thing again.

Fuck.

He bites his tongue and walks in the opposite direction. Then he stops. Looks back.

“The book!” he hears himself call, but Whizzer’s already a bit of a long ways away, and the only indication he’d heard it is when he raises his right hand and sends Marvin a little wave.

* * *

The thing about Marvin's little brother, Jason, is that he's such a fucking  _ chatterbox. _ And it's adorable and endearing and annoying all rolled into one. Marvin usually doesn't mind. Marvin usually loves it when Jason talks, because he's such an eager (yet somewhat wicked) boy, and while he loves the fuck out of the little shit-- sometimes, it annoys him too, especially when he's thinking real hard and Jason's voice interrupts his train of thought before it can reach anything of value.

Marvin adores Jason.

Marvin thinks Jason is the best little brother to ever bless the world with his presence.

Marvin, half the time, doesn't think he deserves Jason.

But right now, he just wants Jason to shut up, please, or Marvin might  _ scream _ .

Jason isn't even doing anything wrong! The kid's just being himself, mouth working a mile a minute, talking about mundane things like school, his last test, the chess team, baseball--

"Wait," Marvin says, "Baseball?"

"...Yes?" Jason says somewhat unsurely, an eyebrow raised in question, head tilted to the side, because he knows how much Marvin  _ detests _ baseball, "What about it?"

There's nothing about it; Marvin doesn't care about baseball. Marvin doesn't care if Whizzer had been reading a book about baseball. He probably wasn't even reading it. Maybe it just fell out of the shelf.

So. Nothing.

(Just that Whizzer probably plays baseball. Whizzer'd been reading some book about baseball. Thinking of baseball reminds him of Whizzer. And what does Whizzer have to do with all of this, anyway? What does it matter? Ugh!)

"--Marvin?"

Well, shit, he'd been spacing out again.

"Nothing," Marvin says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Right," Jason says. Slow, skeptical.

_ "Nothing _ ," Marvin repeats petulantly.

But Jason is too smart and too curious for his own good. So he asks Marvin, "Do you like someone or something?" and it takes Marvin an exhausting amount of self-preservation not to choke on his spit and run out of the room right there and then.

Crazy, genius younger brothers. Marvin hates them. (Marvin loves his. But he's just very annoyed.)

"What makes you say that?" Marvin huffs. He's trying not to act defensive. (He's failing.)

"You're acting like you did when Derek--"

Marvin coughs.

"--was around," Jason continues, like he hadn't heard Marvin at all. Marvin rolls his eyes. He's  _ not _ acting like he was when Derek was around. No way. Derek was-- Derek had been  _ different _ , okay? He'd been the fire to Marvin's, well,  _ fire _ . He'd never backed down. That's what Marvin liked about him. He'd been brash, he'd been cheeky, been bold (in more ways that one-- okay,  _ no _ )--

Been an  _ asshole, _ who was actually kind of soft and caring and endearing in his own special way.

Fuck. Does Marvin have a  _ type _ ?

Marvin can't have a type.

Marvin most definitely does not have a type.

And if, hypothetically speaking, Marvin does indeed happen to have a type-- which he doesn't, because he's only speaking  _ hypothetically _ , which doesn't make it  _ true _ \-- Whizzer Brown most definitely would not fit in it.

No siree.

“What, you think you’re Sherlock now?” is all Marvin manages to snark back, ignoring the shit eating grin on Jason’s otherwise-angelic face.

When he leaves to his room, paying Jason no mind-- he's not defensive, he's not embarrassed, he doesn't feel called out,  _ shut up _ \-- he tries not to hear the smug laughter his little brother is not, in any means, doing anything to stifle.

Hours later, when Marvin's sick and tired of staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, he calls Trina.

It takes five rings before she picks up. Marvin says, “I think I like him,”

Marvin can’t see her, but he can perfectly visualize her unruly hair, the frown on her face and the roll of her eyes when she hears his voice. He sighs and leans against the headboard. “It must be witchcraft, Trin— he’s done something to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, on the other line, “Who?”

Marvin cautiously looks around him despite knowing fully well that it’s two in the morning and he’s all alone in his bedroom— because God knows Whizzer might just materialize out of nowhere. When he sees that he’s alone, he finally speaks into the call, dropping his voice to a low whisper, “Whizzer Brown.”

“Oh,” she says. “Of course.”

Marvin gawks at the phone, staring at it incredulously for a very long moment before he realizes that Trina can’t see him, and that it’s three in the morning and he still hasn’t hung up.

“Excuse me?” he says anyway, dumbfounded.

“I have eyes, Marvin. You didn’t have to tell me,” Trina says dryly. Marin sputters. He hears Trina let out an exasperated breath, and he can almost see her leaning back against the bedframe and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Can I go back to bed now?”

“Wait—”

“Marvin, I really don’t want to hear my ex-boyfriend ranting about his crush in this ungodly hour. Now will you please let me  _ sleep _ ?”

Her outburst has Marvin taken aback, and he sits there unmoving for a moment, blinking at his phone.

“Right,” he says instead when he finds his voice. “Of course. Night, Trin.”

There’s a pause, almost hesitant. “Yeah. Sweet dreams, Marv.”

Marvin hangs up. He massages his temples— his eyes are heavy, his body weak, but he can’t bring himself to sleep, because whenever he closes his eyes all he can see is Whizzer Brown.

“It’s not a  _ crush _ ,” he mutters to the ceiling, earlier admission notwithstanding and irrelevant, and he’s almost exhausted enough to believe it.

* * *

The leather jacket's draped over Marvin's chair. His eyes may as well weigh a hundred tons, and it's just so easy to give in, to close his eyes and fall asleep, but no-- he can't risk getting fired. And he's pretty sure sleeping on the job  _ is _ going to get him fired.

So he groans and gropes at the air, looking for the can of iced coffee he'd brought earlier. He's pretty sure drinking in the library would get him in trouble, too but-- he's running on two hours of (restless) sleep and he's exhausted, and he's sure that a little bit of coffee won't be so bad.

His fingers curl around the can and he lifts it to his lips, tilting it up.

Only a few drops splatter down on his tongue.

"Why," he mutters, tossing the empty can into the trash bin under the desk. He rubs his eyes with a sigh and closes them, if only two get a few moments of delicious rest.

"You know, I really don't think you should be sleeping on the job,"

He could recognize that voice anywhere.

One eye peeking open to glare halfheartedly at Whizzer Brown, Marvin sits up straight and folds his hands on the countertop. It's not until he opens his other eye that the image of the person before him really comes to focus. His mouth is twisted into its usual smirk, lazy and uncaring and smug, and his lips look really soft, and his hair is just as perfect as it’s always been, and his eyes--

Marvin clears his throat. One of Whizzer’s hands are behind his back; it takes him back to weeks ago, when Whizzer had borrowed that book he still hasn’t bothered to return. Whizzer’s also brought a messenger bag today; it’s brown and looks just about like it’s bursting at the seams, bulging with whatever crap he’d shoved inside. His free hand tugs idly at the strap slung over his torso.

“Whizzer Brown,” Marvin greets, trying (and mostly succeeding) to keep his voice steady. He tries to make himself sound dry; exasperated, even, but he’s sure the faint wobble at the end of his voice betrays him just so, and Whizzer’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline as his lips stretch even wider.

“Marvin,” Whizzer says back. Marvin’s face twists.

“I wasn’t aware we’re on first name basis,”

Whizzer says, “Well.” and brings the hand from behind his back. He’s holding a can of iced coffee, just like the one on Marvin’s desk, and Marvin can’t help but gaze at it in longing for a short second before he shakes his head.

“No food or drinks in the library,” he says automatically.

Whizzer nods in the direction of the empty can still on the countertop, and Marvin coughs and snatches it, blood rushing to his face, and tosses it into the trash can by his leg.

Whizzer sets the fresh can where the empty one had been sitting, and Marvin gapes. “Is something wrong?” he asks suspiciously. Whizzer shrugs and starts his familiar stride towards the reading area, depositing his bag on a shelf on the way. Marvin bites his lip and watches him go.

“Thanks,” he calls belatedly, the words clunky and awkward around his tongue.

Whizzer turns his head around, just a little ways, and his smile knocks the breath out of Marvin’s lungs so quickly that it scares him. “You’re learning,” Whizzer says, and he sounds  _ playful _ . Playful without even a hint of haughtiness. It’s new. It’s different. It’s almost disturbing.

Marvin breathes through his mouth and shifts in his seat.

The AC’s a little too strong today.

Marvin’s shivering in his seat by the time two o’clock rolls around. He glances every once in a while at the leather jacket strewn over his chair and wonders how Whizzer is faring, what with the thermostat seemingly dialled to eleven, and hopes he isn’t too cold. Then he catches himself and mentally kicks himself in the face.

He hugs himself and clenches his chattering teeth.

Just fifteen more minutes of this agony, and he’ll be able to run outside and soak in the warmth of the autumn sun. In the meantime, he purses his lips and gives in to the temptation of tugging the jacket on.

It feels snug around him; cozy and so delightfully warm, and he can’t help but sigh at the immediate relief it brings. He wouldn’t say it’s as comfortable as his old maroon hoodie, but it’s almost close. And for now, it would have to do.

Whizzer reemerges just as Marvin’s about to go on break. He grabs his messenger bag and stops at the counter. “My jacket,” he says.

“The book,” Marvin says even when he’s already pulling the jacket off, eyes narrowing when Whizzer only raises an eyebrow with a clueless look on his face, “Our deal, Whizzer.”

“I should leave it with you longer,” Whizzer says thoughtfully, lips puckered and thumb stroking his chin as he looks around. Marvin makes a noise of dissent at the bottom of his throat, which Whizzer either doesn’t hear or ignores completely. Whizzer continues, “It suits you.”

Marvin barely stops himself from sputtering.

Is he-- he can’t be-- but  _ is _ he--

He clears his throat fervently. His cheeks are aflame, blood blazing underneath his skin. “Book,” he manages to rasp.

Whizzer produces a book from his bag. Marvin stares at it disbelievingly for a moment, as if he can’t quite process that Whizzer’d actually brought it. Whizzer stares at him. His lips are pursed and straight, his expression carefully schooled such that Marvin finds himself unable to read it, and Marvin’s gaze moves from the book to its borrower as he slowly takes it into his own hands.

Whizzer doesn’t look away. Neither does Marvin. They stay there, just looking at each other, the air between them tense like a tightly-coiled string and their gazes drawn by some invisible magnetic pull.

Marvin tears his gaze away and opens the book to its last page. He turns his swivel chair so that he’s facing the computer, tapping robotically as he registers the book back as  _ unborrowed _ . He can still feel Whizzer’s eyes on him even as he forces his attention towards thumbing through the catalogues, pulling out Whizzer’s library ID as well as the little card from the book.

When he’s done, he sets the book aside. He looks back up at Whizzer. The room is warmer, suddenly. There’s sweat on his brow and a lump in his throat and weird flutters in his belly. “Fourteen dollars,” he says.

Whizzer blinks.

“The book’s four weeks overdue.” Marvin’s voice is strangely tight. “Fifty cents a day. Your fine.”

“ _ You’re _ fine,” Whizzer says, and Marvin’s brain blanks out.

“What,” he says stupidly, but then there’s an impish smile on Whizzer’s face, and before Marvin knows it a was of bills is being slapped onto the countertop and Whizzer’s turning around and striding out of the library.

Marvin stares. The doors swing shut. He takes the money and puts it in a box. His brain is still malfunctioning.

“What,” he repeats to himself. He takes the book. Stops.

There’s a displacement among the pages. With narrowed eyes, he brings it nearer to his face. There’s a dog-eared page. 

“Jesus,” Marvin says, his astonishment giving way to mild irritation. He opens the book to that certain page and a piece of paper flutters out. Hesitantly, Marvin picks it up. Blank. He flips it over.

There’s a set of numbers.  _ Whizzer’s  _ number. And below it, written:  _ text me. still need my jacket back. ;) _

__ Marvin stares at it and slumps back against his seat.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i wrote this whole thing to make a pun, sue me.
> 
> i hope you enjoyed!!!
> 
> kudos or comments would be appreciated!! ly all!!
> 
> _nix


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